


Tumblr Ask Box Fic & Drabbles

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: A place to store all my Tumblr Ask fics. Each chapter is a separate fic. Some longer than others... it often depends on how long my baby naps!Enjoy!





	1. Frustration

**Author's Note:**

> It's really, really lovely that people like my work enough to submit asks. I do try and do them justice!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for tumblr user @sleepymr - based on the "wood chopping" scene of Season 1 ep 10, but without all the late season 3 nonsense.

Abbie surfaced from her Netflix binge (hell yeah, that Luke Cage had some serious  _ game _ ) and turned the TV off to hear the strange sound.

 

_ Thunk. Thunk. _

 

Like… chopping wood.

 

She hadn’t heard that sound since she’d come upon Crane that morning, a good while ago now, sinking his worries about Katrina and the son he hadn’t known about into logs with an axe. She had  _ totally _ noticed his upper arm strength then, but it hadn’t seemed an appropriate time to mention it, under the circumstances.

 

Abbie got up from the sofa and crossed to the back of the house. The noise got louder as she reached the door and peered through the glass doors leading to the long, narrow garden at the rear of their property.

 

He was there, all right, with a huge axe, his now shorter hair in a tumble of copper and autumn brown around his face. One hand held the axe and the other was propped on his hip as he studied the large pile of logs he’d chopped.

 

When they had chosen the house, the log burner in the snug off the kitchen had been one of its best features. Abbie had pictured herself - OK,both of them, sometimes - snuggled up on a rug by the fire, reading, napping, and plenty of other pursuits.

 

She shifted on her feet, feeling awkward as he lifted the axe with both hands and deftly cleaved a section of log in two. The halves tumbled off the stump and Crane reached for another section of log, bigger this time.

 

 _What’s he frustrated about this time?_ Sure, they both had a lot going on. Abbie was juggling the demon-infested Sleepy Hollow as well as her new post at the FBI. And her increasing thoughts about her off-limits house mate. _He could leave at any time_ , she reminded herself. He’d taken off before without so much as a… what would he call it? A “by your leave.”

 

But if she was honest with herself, she had mostly forgiven him for that now. He’d had a shit ton to deal with, and some time apart had probably done them both good. But damned if he wasn’t… different now. Not just his hair - although it was much thicker now, and she frequently thought about how it might feel between her fingers - but his demeanour. He seemed more sure of himself. Like he’d figured things out.

 

She watched him chop three more sections of wood, then decided to go outside and speak to him like the friend she was, rather than some weird-ass lumberjack fetishist.

Opening the sliding door, she stepped outside. The early autumn chill in the air made her shove her hands into her jeans pockets. Just as well. Looking at Crane in his dishevelled state, shirt half unbuttoned, hair in disarray, long fingers wrapped deftly around the axe, made her want to touch. And if her palms itched to do so, she shoved them deeper into the denim envelopes on her clothes.

 

He looked up from the task of setting another section of log on the chopping stump. “Enjoying ourselves, were we?”

 

Abbie’s face stung. “I…. just wondered what you were doing?”

 

He gestured with the axe. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it weird, Crane. I mean… I came to see if you were OK. You’ve been out here for a while now.”

 

His gaze softened as he looked at her and she saw his shoulders sag slightly - a tell of when he’d relaxed a bit. It took effort to shrug off his Puritan restraint, and her housemate had a serious case of it. “I thought to give you your space with the Netflix. I realise that this… situation has been rather sudden for us both.”

 

_ Oh, Crane. _ Abbie’s heart seized. She stepped forward. “You do know I’m not still angry with you, right?”

 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Regardless, I behaved like a cad.”

 

She couldn’t resist smiling. His archaic vocabulary was comforting somehow. Like he was coming back to her in increments. “You can tell me anything, you know. You said we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. It never goes well when we do. So. What is it? Don’t make me hide the donut holes.”

 

“You do not fight fair, Lieutenant.”

 

Abbie folded her arms, waiting him out.

 

They looked at each other for a long moment.

 

“Oh come  _ on, _ Crane,” Abbie huffed. “I hate twenty questions. Jenny used to make me play it every day on the way home from school. I was bored by number five.”

 

He half turned away from her. “‘Twill change things between us irrevocably, I fear.”

 

She propped a hand on her hip, mimicking his earlier pose. “I hate to break it to you,  _ Ichabod, _ but things between us aren’t exactly stellar at the moment, are they? It’s getting there, but… for example, you never needed to give me “space” before. So you can’t make it worse.”

 

“You don’t know-”

 

“No I  _ don’t _ know!” she shouted, not caring in their neighbours overhead and looked at her ostensibly having a confusing argument with someone who looked like an escapee from a renaissance fayre. “Because you won’t let. Me. In. Fucking let me  _ in, _ Crane, or tomorrow morning I’m scouring the real estate ads for somewhere else to live.”

 

“Very well.” He dropped the axe and she saw something come over his face. Something a little dark and a lot dangerous. Something that made him look a lot more like the man who fought demons and spied for America instead of her housemate that played video games and obsessed over Earl Grey tea. “I’ll tell you, shall I?”

 

“Yeah,” she replied, but it squeaked out instead of being the badass reply she’d planned.

 

He advanced on her. Abbie dug her heels into the lawn, determined not to give any quarter. She could take anything he could dish out.

 

“I cannot escape you,” he began in a whisper, his words just reaching her, spanning the space between their bodies. “The shower smells of your perfume. The kitchen is littered with those little notes in your writing. You throw your clothes over chairs and they remind me of your petite, perfect stature.”

 

“I-” Did he want her to  _ leave? _

 

“And all these things have the most  _ delicious _ irony since escaping you, Lieutenant, is what I want least in this world. I want  _ you, _ in any and every way you would allow.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them hot and thick with a hundred thousand unsaid things. The silence boomeranged.

 

Crane dropped his gaze. “Lieutenant..”

 

“Shut up.” And she closed the distance, grabbing him, sinking her hands into that glorious mane of hair and pressing her mouth to kiss, trying to tell him without words that she wanted to, and perhaps she always had, deep down in a place she’d refused to acknowledge. Perhaps every moment they’d shared had been leading to this.

 

He kissed her back with a fervour that made her head spin. They clung to each other, the trees yellow and gold around them, the chopped logs scattered over the yard, forgotten.


	2. The Baby Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane babysits and Abbie's all heart eyes. For @youwerenevermine on Tumblr.

“… And _that_ is the story of how I came to be owed a favour from Benjamin Franklin. He never did find that missing shoe.”

  
Abbie opened the door in time to hear the tail end of Ichabod’s latest tale of daring do, myth and magic, or whatever it was he spoke about when she wasn’t around. To whom, though? Jenny? Joe? Joe usually visited their house for an excuse to snatch free food from their fridge. Abbie allowed it because the he made her sister so happy.

  
“Hey, Crane?”

  
“Ah, Lieutenant,” he called from the living area. “I have been entertaining Master Toby with tales of my misspent youth.”

  
“Toby?” She sailed through the kitchen and into the living area, to find Crane bouncing a baby on his knee.

  
The little thing couldn’t have been more than 12 weeks old, and was gazing up at Crane’s beard solemnly. He reached up a chubby little hand and pronounced, very seriously, “Ack.”

  
“Ack indeed, my little friend.” Crane jiggled Toby some more, who broke into a wide, crinkly eyed smile.

 

Abbie stood in the doorway and tried very, very hard not to melt into a little puddle on the floor.

  
She hadn’t really seen Crane with kids before, didn’t really think his oft dour, Puritan demeanour would suit the constantly changing needs of a baby or child. But, she had to admit, she usually forgot about his mischievous side, the side that he didn’t always show to anyone outside of Team Witness.

  
“Who is Toby?” she ventured, plopping down on the couch the safe distance from Crane and his charge.

  
“He belongs to Mistress Taylor from the house next door. I was gardening, she needed to run an errand, and she asked me to care for him for perhaps an hour or so.”

  
Abbie eyed him. “And you just agreed?”

 

“Of course.” He deftly dodged Toby’s grabbing little fingers, which constantly reached for his beard, but then failed to dodge a headbutt. “Ouch. Children are our future, are they not? Of course, I may have not entirely grasped their propensity to… grab when I acquiesced to her request.”

  
Toby launched himself forward in Crane’s arms, hitting his forehead squarely on the older’s nose. Crane blinked away the pain as Toby began to wail in earnest.

  
Abbie couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. “Need a hand?”

  
Ichabod frowned at the squalling infant. “It cannot be so hard.” He shifted a screaming Toby up on his shoulder and stood so the baby could see the room from a different perspective. Toby was quiet immediately, his huge blue eyes scanning his surroundings.

  
“This makes me think a little of what… might have been, with Jeremy,” Crane said softly.

  
“Oh, Crane. There was nothing you could have done.”

  
He patted Toby’s back gently. “If only that knowledge improved my feelings on the matter.”

  
Toby turned his round little face into Crane’s neck and nuzzled in, and Abbie gave up. If she couldn’t feel her legs, it was because they had melted.

  
“There, there.” Crane met Abbie’s gaze over Toby’s tufty head of wispy brown locks. “‘Tis fortunate you were not here earlier. Babies, it seems, do not possess a fondness for sea shanties.”

“You didn’t,” she snorted, sorry she had missed it.

  
“I must confess, my babysitting days are yet in their infancy.”

  
The doorbell rang and Abbie hopped up. “I’m betting that’s Mrs Taylor to collect Toby.” She strode towards the front of the house as quickly as she could, because one more second in there with Crane being so ridiculously adorable with Toby would have convinced her that she needed a babe of her own. With him.


	3. Puffmuffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for Tumblr user @dreamlessdelirium - "Crane and Abbie as immortal vampires."

“So…  I feel like this would be a lot more fun if we could, I don’t know, predict lottery numbers or something.”

Ichabod looked over at the Lieutenant. All things considered, she was taking their latest predicament, the curse of immortality from a rampaging vampire, rather well.

“It’s all right for you,” she continued. “ _You’re_  already two hundred and fifty years old.”

He considered the chess board. “Yes, but you forget, I did not have to live through every single one of those two hundred and fifty years.”

She snorted. “What a shame that is. Imagine with you a dodgy seventies mullet. Or in flares. Or discovering Pop Tarts for the first time.”

He took one of her pieces in his chess move. “Checkmate. Had I a choice, perhaps I would have awoken just as Pop Tarts and Donut Holes had their coming into the world.”

Abbie made her move on the board, her other hand clutching one of the aforementioned donut holes. “If we really are immortal, maybe we could invent the next donut hole? Then we’d really live forever.”

“Slaying beasties and demons not quite entertaining you enough, Miss Mills?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “You gotta admit, you don’t get a lot of feedback. Or thanks.”

He plucked the donut hole from her hand and took a bite. “Success is its own reward.”

“The words of someone who never got a real reward.”

In a flash he was out of the chair and scooping her up in his arms, the donut hole forgotten on the floor. 

“On the contrary, I’d say the prospect of having endless years to do as I pleased with your delectable form is the highest reward I should ever hope to gain.”

Abbie eyed him. “Less talk, more action.”

Many, many years later, when they finally emerged from exploring every inch of each other, the puffmuffin (a muffin with a cloud of flavoured marshmallow inside) was invented.


	4. Foundling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod brings home an injured kitten. This is for @irishlullaby on Tumblr.

Abbie put the finishing touches to the chicken and leek pie she was readying for the oven and checked her watch. Crane really should have been home by now. Knowing him, he’d swung by the library and was giving old Mrs Jennings the time of her life by waxing lyrical about microfiche and how it would have won the war _blah blah_. Or letting her regale him with the happenings of her favourite TV shows.

  
She grinned to herself. She had to admit, his little rants sort of made her day. She enjoyed hanging back and letting him climb up on his soapbox. It was excellent entertainment. 

  
It should have been even more entertaining when his recent haircut after his return from Scotland garnered him a whole boatload of female attention.  
But… somehow, it wasn’t. Somehow, it irked her. She should have been pleased that he had the opportunity to get back out there after all the business with Katrina. But instead….

  
Instead he was no longer the man who fit safely in the “quirky, odd re-enactor type” box. Suddenly he was kinda… attractive.

  
She slid the pie in the oven and told herself to think about Daniel Reynolds. He was a good guy. Handsome. From, you know, her _own era._ He had a good job.  
So why didn’t he make her heart do the pitty-pat?

  
Crane’s key turned in the door as she laid out placemats on the table.  
“My apologies, Lieutenant. I was unavoidably detained.”

  
Abbie opened a bottle of white wine. “Mrs Jennings updating you on the happenings of _Jersey Shore_ again?” The librarian was well known for her love of reality TV.

  
“Something different, I am relieved to report.” He moved towards her, his hands unbuttoning his coat. For a second Abbie experienced a flash of mixed panic and excitement, wondering what he was about to do.

  
Then, a little furry black head poked its way out from under the neck of Crane’s open shirt.

  
Abbie stared for a second. “What…?”

  
“Allow me to introduce you to… Mabie.”

  
The kitten mewed.

  
Abbie set the bottle of wine down. “Mabie?”

  
“I was passing the tavern at the time. It seemed apt.” He gently gathered the bundle of scruff out of his shirt and held the kitten in his cupped hands. The little creature looked absurdly small in his wide palms and long fingers. “The poor dear appears to be injured. No collar in sight, I fear.”

  
Abbie watched as Mabie struggled to get to her feet on Crane’s outstretched palms. Her back leg folded on the second attempt.

  
“Poor little thing,” she murmured. The cat looked up at her with bottomless green eyes.

  
“Let’s see if we can’t find you a comfortable bed and perhaps a light repast,” Crane told Mabie softly. “On the morrow, I shall visit the shelter in town where proper care shall be taken of that leg.”

  
He bent down to give the kitten and little kiss on the head, and the cat anticipated his move, leaning up to buss its furry cheek against his chin, letting out a deep purr.

  
A piece of Abbie’s heart drifted off from the whole and was lost to Crane forever. She knew in an instant that she’d never get it back.

  
“My apologies for my tardiness regarding dinner,” he said, as if he hadn’t completely rocked her world by rescuing a tiny adorable kitten.

  
“Sure.” She tried to sound nonchalant and thought she’d just about pulled it off. “It’ll be about twenty minutes yet.”

  
“That being the case, my new friend and I shall go in search of a suitable bed for the night. I believe there are some boxes in one of the upstairs bedrooms that may yet be of use.” And off he went, cradling the little cat as if it were as precious as gold, his gentle words carrying down to her as he soothed the creature.

  
It was quite a novel sensation, Abbie thought, to be jealous of a kitten.  
And yet she was.


	5. Three Dollars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie gets roped into a kissing booth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Tumblr user @sleepymr

Abbie stood awkwardly at the entrance to the fair, Jenny beside her.

"So you've been roped in too, huh," Abbie muttered to her sister.

Jenny lifted one shoulder and dropped it in her habitual half shrug. "You know me. I'm practically a paragon of good causes."

Abbie snorted. "Too bad we drew the short straw."

Watching the customers stream through the fair gates, dressed to accomodate the hot June day and clear blue skies, Jenny gave one of her trademark scowls. "The Sisters Mills in the kissing booth. Never thought I'd see the day."

Frank strode towards them, a shit eating grin on his face. "Ladies." He'd been the one dealing out the duties for this fair, set up to raise money for the Sleepy Hollow Historical Society. Abbie strongly suspected that the draw had been rigged by the man standing in front of them.

Jenny poked him in the chest. "One word. One word, and I'll punch you into next week."

Frank just kept grinning, leading them through the fair. Abbie felt uncomfortable in her summer dress. More a jeans and boots kind of girl, Jenny had convinced her into the strappy, wine red summer frock and flat thong sandals. The dress was nice and all, she just felt really... girly.

"Here we are."

The kissing booth was every bit as twee as Abbie had expected. Wooden sides and frontage, and a big pink sash-style sign with KISSES $3 printed on the material in a loopy script.

"Three dollars?!" Abbie exclaimed. "Isn't that kinda expensive?"

Frank laughed. "You're worth it. It's for charity, anyway."

Jenny elbowed her. "You're on first shift, sis. Better pucker up for all your customers."

"Get lost," Abbie scowled at her sister, but inside she warmed at their sibling-like banter. Not too long ago, she had worried that they'd never have this.

She sidled into the kissing booth, frowning at Frank. "I guess it's too much to hope that all my customers are ten years olds wanting a buss on the cheek?"

 

He winked at her. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy this more than you think."

 

Not caring how it looked, Abbie stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. He and Jenny could laugh it up. They'd be laughing on the other side of their faces (whatever that meant) when she raised the most money for the Historical Society.

 

If she was honest, a big reason for her signing up for this fundraising gig was her fellow Witness. He'd found purchase in the Historical Society, where people didn't think he was some wierdo.

 

Well, OK, they _did_  think he was some wierdo, but not _just_  that. They appreciated all his knowledge of the 18th century and they tolerated his little man-out-of-time quirks. If only they knew....

 

"Lieutenant."

 

What a surprise. She rolled her eyes as the object of her thoughts strode towards her, wearing that ridiculous woollen coat despite the heat of the day. He just didn't sweat. What a _wierdo._

Shame that wierdo also made her think about the line of his jaw under the scruffy half-beard. How his pulse point would taste. How his hair would feel between her fingers, released from that tight queue he kept it in.

 

She swallowed. "Hey, Crane. Come to laugh at me being kissed to death by the people of Sleepy Hollow?"

 

"No, indeed." He set his palms on the counter of the booth and looked at her. His eyes were very, very blue, rivaling the sky. "I'm afraid that the many denizens of this town will be deprived that delectable task."

 

It took her a moment, as it sometimes did, to disgest and then translate his words. "What? But I can't leave, I just started-"

 

Crane took her hand and held it palm up. As she watched, he pressed thirty dollars into it.

 

"What...?" She stared at him. 

 

"I believe I've just purchased ten of your finest kisses, Lieutenant."

 

They looked at each other for a moment. Abbie forced the cogs in her head to turn. He wouldn't. He was joking. He had to be.

 

"This is a generous donation," she began.

 

"Oh, it's not a donation." He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. His palm was calloused and warm against her skin; she shivered at the thrill of it. "I fully expect to recieve my ten kisses."

 

"That won't leave time for anyone else to buy a kiss," she half-protested.

 

"My thoughts exactly." 

 

Before she could reply further, his mouth ghosted over hers, gently as a butterfly's wings, barely there, leaving her aching for more. Her eyes drifted closed as he continued to tease her, their mouths only just touching, his hand gentle on her cheek. Abbie unconsciously leaned into the kiss until Crane pressed his mouth against hers harder, opening her lips under his. He tasted of woodsmoke and faintly of whiskey, and when his tongue traced hers, so faintly she wondered if she'd imagined it, she heard a small mewl and realised betatedly that it had come from her.

 

When he pulled back, her eyes popped open.

 

"That was _one_?" She felt like she'd been run over by a freight train. He could kiss like _that_ , had been able to all this time, and she'd only just found out about it?

 

He huffed, but clearly looked very pleased with himself. "Kissing, it seems, has changed little since the 18th century." His gaze held hers. "You cannot know how long I have waited to give you such a kiss." He glanced away, suddenly looking shy. "I'm afraid the thought of others kissing you had me quite agitated."

 

They looked at each other for a long moment.

 

"You'd better get Jenny," Abbie said finally. "Because I owe you nine more kisses, and I want to give them to you at home."


End file.
